Conspiracy Theory
by Wendish
Summary: What if the truth of Team B&B was far darker than we've been led to believe? A examination of an alternate Bones Universe...or is it?
1. Atlas

___Created April 2014 - ____I don't own the characters or the words made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic, Threesquares, and Covalent Bond postings. _

_A/N: 04/30/2014 - This story is **total Hodginsing**. Expect it to be unlike all of my other comfort food stories, as it is a delicious spiraling of all my many Bones conspiracy theories - slightly filtered - into one story. Though some of you have already picked up on some of my nutter theories hinted at in my other stories, you don't even know half of the crazy that I love to throw at my favorite Bones fic writer (as if you can't guess) Covalent Bond._

_It is for this reason that if you don't enjoy the story, we all can blame her :) But seriously - don't b/c she is my favorite, and I'm not above kicking your ass :0)_

_This story will cite many of the goings on over all nine seasons of Bones, and I will guarantee you the characters that I've created will not factor into the endgame. This story IS NOT intended to predict what will occur next in canon, but hopefully serve as a Scandal-eque version of the series that infuriates us all. I'll do my best to tag certain canon facts and chapters with episode references, I hope you'll keep me tethered to that commitment along the way._

_I am a bit bummed! My outline for this story has always vividly begun with a scene b/w Cam & Sweets. But you will have to wait a few chapters in for that. I'll be posting a few set up chapters tonight just so I can mentally get to it. One last thing - just shoot me if another one of my author's notes goes this long._

* * *

Lance Sweets stepped off the elevator, grimacing at the number of agents ambling around the floor with their heads down, eyes locked on a smartphone or buried in a set of documents. Once guilty of the same behaviors, he now had come to appreciate the things he hadn't noticed before, such as how many second looks he received from several female agents in the building.

His heads-down, walk-and-work abstinence was not a choice of self-improvement; not some fittingly contemporary emancipation from being "plugged in" all the time. No, he was just consistently paranoid about things now. Once bitten, as the saying goes. He observed his colleagues and coworkers hurrying off the their next conference call, meeting or web conference, completely oblivious of who or what could have been watching them.

He wondered how many of these agents had unknowingly been victim to Christopher Pelant's trespasses.

The irony of this self-imposed tech diet (a _diet_ because even the likes of Booth thought that being fully unplugged was impossible) was that Sweets had once considered himself a gadget geek. With every new smartphone, gaming console or tablet ad, Sweets tempered his impulse-to-possess against his still fully untold history with Christopher Pelant. That intrusion, plus Dr. Saroyan's identity theft victimization had made him hypersensitive to all things electronic and print (after all, anything printed these days was borne of computer based origin). He expected that – right now – there were scads of other hackers infiltrating what the FBI Technology Standards Group had newly (re)deemed impregnable security. Impregnable security that Sweets knew had been overhauled at least four times, thanks to one genius-hacker-serial-killer's obsession with his coterie of friends.

Cynically, he watched as the techs were working up in the ceiling – yet again – on rewiring the cables in the bullpen. It made him shudder.

Lance Sweets knew too many secrets. And he feared that Pelant's psychopathy meant that his death was but a mere setback to the landmines that they'd yet to discover.

_After all, it wouldn't be the first time that a serial killer had continued to posthumously torment Team B&B._

In fact, being haunted by serial killers had kind of become _their thing_, now that Sweets considered it. Howard Epps' death had chased Agent Booth into therapy; Gormogon's silence in death had led to Zack's infinite penance; Pelant had _certainly_ done a number on all of them, big-time. Especially Dr. Brennan.

And, the specter of the Grave Digger still plagued Sweets. For reasons he hoped that no one would ever learn.

Yup, he knew too many secrets.

He looked at his father's wind-up wristwatch, it was 3:47 PM. _Angela's probably hacked three sites I left the Jeffersonian _he chuckled to himself_._

He made a mental note to visit with Dr. Saroyan regarding Angela's recent stretch of lawlessness that she justified as just under the guise of supporting FBI/Jeffersonian cases. After spending lunch and the early afternoon with Hodgins and Angela, he was impressed with how well-adjusted Dr. Hodgins appeared to be, even despite the reminders of his fortunes that this Brewster case was surfacing. But Angela..._Angela_. As she was with almost all facets of her existence, Angela Montenegro was a little too overzealous with her boundary pushing. One word to the wrong person and everything that they worked for would come crumbling –

"Whoa!" Sweets raised his hands to get the attention of two agents barreling toward him.

"Oh! Sorry Dr. Sweets." The pretty young agent replied breathlessly. She had been engrossed in conversation with another agent – Agent Richter – who appeared to know fully well that her colleague was about to run into Lance Sweets, and still let her. "I wasn't paying attention."

Silently, predatorily, Richter eyed the forensic psychologist as he assisted her yet unknown associate.

Sweets pursed his lips. _Agent Richter_. _Again_.

"No worries," Sweets offered, squatting down to help reorganize the spill of paper. "It happens all the time."

Marlene Richter stepped around Sweets to treat herself to a rear vantage view of the able-bodied psychologist. His suit jacked stretched to the fit of him as he hunched over the papers; the narrow cut of his trousers was accentuated by the pull of his squat.

_There was something about this kid._ She thought to herself, nudging her Buddy Holly retro frames down her nose for one long, final gawk. _Something that makes me want to climb him like a knotty rope. Hmm, hmm, hmm! Shame he goes for the gangly ponytail types, like my little friend here. _

"Dr. Lance Sweets," Richter began, eyes still canvassing his body. "I'd like you to meet my new mentee, Agent Candace Greer; a new addition to the Cyberterrorism unit."

"Thanks for the introduction, Agent Richter." Both Greer and Sweets stood. A flushed Lance Sweets smiled at Richter politely, always wary of _The Cougar_, as he liked to call her, before extending his hand to introduce himself to Agent Greer. Sweets shook Greer's hand, examining her familiar features. "You know obviously know me, but I apologize if we've met before."

Two sets of ebony eyes and dimply smiles mirrored each other. Richter shifted and rolled her eyes, annoyed at the obvious, instant magnetism between the pair.

"No, we've not met before." Candace began, admiring the psychologist's tie and shirt combination. "Agent Richter is giving me a tour of the building. I was looking forward to meeting you. We just passed by Detention. Er-, um your office…."

Sweets chuckled. _Booth strikes again_. Apparently Domestic Terrorism (Richter's unit) and now Cyberterrorism had caught on to the head of Major Crimes' moniker for the Psych wing of the Hoover Building - **_Detention._**

Greer's eyes flashed with appreciation of Dr. Sweets' amusement. "I also went to U Penn…for my Master's. You're still quite a legend in some circles there, Dr. Sweets." she grinned. "Plus, Dr. Edison is my uncle. He speaks very highly of you."

"Oh?" Sweets inquired, sincerely surprised. While, like Clark Edison, Candace Greer had a strong brow, square shaped face, prominent cheekbones and full round lips, she was –

"I get the confusion." she chuckled. "My Dad's pretty tall. And white. Irish, German, and French. I'm Chex Mix." She laughed, always amused by the reaction of everyone who knew both her and uncle.

Sweets blushed. "I was just going to say, I'm surprised that Dr. Edison said anything nice about me" he lied. "I thought that he just found me to be a meddlesome Feeb shrink."

Greer smiled "Oh, he does" she confirmed cheerfully. "But Uncle Clarkie really enjoys working with you, with all of your team. Don't tell him I told you though." She winked at him.

One wink and Sweets was hooked – again. Since his big breakup with the Jeffersonian intern - and Agent Booth finally/officially being taken off the market - Lance Sweets had realized that his stock had risen substantially among the Bureau bachelorettes.

"It will be our secret Agent Greer." he nodded toward her. "But it _will_ kill me to keep the name 'Uncle Clarkie' all to myself." He placed his hands in his pockets, unable to stop smiling at her.

Greer slipped the folder containing all the recovered paper under her arm, and tugged an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Then we'll just have to find occasion to call him that together" she suggested, eyes locked with his.

Sweets laughed goofily. A smiling Agent Greer stepped to Sweets' right to rejoin an amused Agent Richter. Sardonically, she quipped "You know, it you two get married and you took his name, your married name would be Candy Sweets."

Sweets pivoted to face the passing pair, relieved to find that Agent Greer had decided to laugh off The Cougar's snide remark. "Good to meet you Agent Greer, welcome. Agent Richter, always an experience."

All three agents exchanged farewell nods and continued in their intended directions.

_What a coincidence, Cyberterrorism._ Sweets mulled, hopeful that Agent Greer would stop by for insights on the possible tricks of Christopher Pelant. Ugh. _What am I saying? I want a cute girl to come to my office to talk about Pelant. I'm an idiot. _

_An idiot with game. _

Now whistling, Sweets continued toward his office, appreciative that his calendar was clear for the rest of the day. The McNamara angle of the case had definite legs. Knowing that he would be touching base with Booth later that evening about his meetings with Brewster's brother, Erica Stamp, and his conversation with Hodgins about McNamara.

He walked into the waiting area that he shared with three other psychologists and two psychiatrists. He nodded at two seated agents before he checked in with Mrs. Adams.

Mrs. Adams sat at her desk coordinating the electronic calendar of appointments. Gloria Adams was a pleasant lady – a widowed great grandma who was the aunt or great aunt of someone high up in the Bureau. But her genealogy hadn't earned Gloria her position – she had been with the FBI since the end of Reagan's first term. She had seen six directors come and go during her 30 year tenure, one year more than Dr. Lance Sweets had been alive – a fact that she often leveraged to tease her favorite profiler.

If she said the word, Mrs. Adams could – without objection – take on the executive role of supporting the Director. But Mrs. Adams preferred the syncopated routine of supporting six head doctors. Coordinating thirty, sixty, and ninety minute sessions and overseeing records management was far less stressful to managing four administrative assistants and the Director.

Plus, it gave her more opportunities to see her favorite head of Major Crimes.

Sweets approached Mrs. Adams, finding her cheerily humming Sinatra's _Fly Me To The Moon_. Sensing his presence, she looked up with a beaming smile. "Hello, Dr. Sweets, how was your lunch, Dear?"

_"Dear": there was zero use in trying to get Gloria to abide by any HR sensitivity rules._

Mrs. Adams was always pleasant, but Sweets knew that there was only one reason that she'd be so… _chipper_: Agent Booth was waiting in his office.

_Without Dr. Brennan. _

While Mrs. Adams required all her doctors' visitors to use the waiting room, she only offered this direct-to-room treatment to Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, and for very different reasons. Agent Booth, she adored. Dr. Brennan, on the other hand, brought Gloria to new heights of exasperation.

If Dr. Brennan was with Agent Booth, Mrs. Adams would have stood up and walked Sweets to his office door. And, if Dr. Brennan was in his office alone, Mrs. Adams would be nowhere to be found, and a post-it note would be on his door. But when Booth dropped by on his own, Gloria was all smiles – big smiles.

"Fine. Thank you Mrs. Adams. How long has he been in there?" he asked, smirking at Gloria's pout for reading her mood.

"About ten minutes, Dear." She passed him his mail. "Seems like he's having a bad day. I hope everything _at home_ is okay. " Gloria had a definite emphatic tick – whenever she uttered or inferred Dr. Brennan's name, she raised her eyebrows with all the judgment empowered to a Spanish _Inquisidor__._ "Tolerant" was the nicest word possible to describe Gloria's opinion of Dr. Brennan. But, as Sweets knew, Mrs. Adams believed that no girl was good enough for _Her Seeley._

But Lance Sweets was a different story.

"Oh! Agent Richter stopped by with a nice young lady looking to meet you, an Agent Greer. A very lovely girl…" she winked.

Sweets blushed as he backed away toward his office. "Yes, I literally ran into her and Agent Richter in the hallway. She seems nice. She went to the University of Pennsylvania as well."

Gloria shook her head. "She's not involved with anyone right now. Oh, and she's not gay, Dear."

_Of course_ Mrs. Adams would have secured all the pertinent personal details in what was probably a two minute exchange.

"Can you hold my calls, please?" Sweets smiled, ignoring her.

"You're schedule's open for lunch tomorrow…" she sang, ambivalent to the doctor's dodge.

Sweets shook his head, trying to get in the appropriate mental space for his intense friend. In the four steps left to his office, a slightly concerned Sweets quickly staged a pre-assessment. Having known Seeley Booth for seven years, one technique that he had learned by working with his nimbly evasive friend/coworker/former patient/surrogate parent was to preemptively suggest probable issues to him – in psychological terms – prime the pump.

_But what was the reason for this visit? _

He usually could tell. If there was a new case, Booth wouldn't be waiting in Sweets' office. And Booth was never in a hurry for case reports, so he knew that it wasn't that.

_Maybe it's Dr. Brennan knocking heads with Dr. Saroyan again._ He thought, knowing that Booth's kinesics would affirm immediately what was going on.

Sweets opened the door.

_Wow. _

_Uh oh._


	2. Chapter 2: Eternal Sunshine

___Created April 2014 - ____I don't own the characters or the words made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic, Threesquares, and Covalent Bond postings._

* * *

Booth was sitting.

_Sitting – not standing with his arms akimbo staring out the window; not "kinda sitting", _with one foot on the floor and the other stepped up on the seat cushion; not edged off the sofa playing with the distraction toys _– sitting_. Sitting hunched over on the left side of the couch – _Dr. Brennan's side – _his hand in his head, supported by the arm of the sofa.

And tapping – Special Agent Seeley Booth was always in motion.

_Uh-oh, this one's a doozy. _

Hearing Sweets' entry into the room, Booth didn't stand. He barely turned his head. "Hey Sweets." He mumbled.

_Oh this is __**definitely**__ about Dr. Brennan. _

Sweets reconsidered his plan. Whatever _this _was, the comforting rules of their normal interplay would not stand. Something was wrong. Something that would require the cushioned boundaries of a doctor-patient-exchange.

"Agent Booth." Sweets replied.

Booth smiled sheepishly in appreciation of Sweets' formality. More than he was willing to admit, he loved the kid. But when it came to male relationships, Seeley Booth modeled his behavior after the lessons taught to him by his traditionalist grandfather. It was for this reason he had a tendency to enforce an arm's length distance to maintain the friendship that they had versus the friendship he knew that Sweets' wanted. And his "Little Buddy," raised by older parents himself, seemed to respect that.

But this was not about the relationship. _Well, it was. _More than anyone else, Booth felt that he could only trust Sweets with what was on his mind. He couldn't talk to Aldo about this, not yet.

And somehow, Sweets sensed it.

He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped into the chair opposite the agent. Leaning forward in his chair, he subconsciously coaxed Booth out of his semi-fetal crouch. Booth mimicked the lean in, his sad eyes still evading.

What Sweets read from Booth was alarming. Booth looked…_scared_.

Through the years, Lance Sweets had cataloged a warehouse full of Seeley Booth expressions – angry, amiable, agitated, accepting, antagonistic, amused, alarmed, affable, aggressive – and those were just the "A's".

But **_scared_**? Reading that in Booth was a rare as was Capgras Syndrome. Seeley Booth didn't **_do_** scared. He was a warrior. His children or Dr. Brennan: _only_ if they were in serious peril, could fear rear its ugly head.

And Booth looked scared.

_What the Hell is going on?_

Booth looked down at the poker chip that he was rubbing between his forefinger and thumb. Sweets allowed his gaze to land on the chip as well. This was one of Booth's "tells" - he was grappling with the risk he was about to take. Whatever he was about to say, he couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

Suddenly all motion in the tense agent halted. Sweets looked up to find a set of tear-filled eyes threatening him.

Through his teeth he hissed. "Swear to me right now that this conversation goes no further than this room."

Sweets sighed, feeling mildly annoyed at Booth's distrust.

_Haven't I proven my allegiance to you __**yet**__? Dude, you have no idea the secrets I keep. _

"Agent Booth, what we discuss here is always…"

Booth body tensed. His right cheek twitched, his right eye narrowed as he raised his eyebrow at the psychologist. "Swear it, Sweets" he bullied.

Sweets cursed himself for flinching – _again_. "Fine. I swear" he replied calmly.

Booth relaxed slightly. "When was the last time that you saw Bones?" His right foot began to tap furiously.

_Weird question. _

Sweets' brow furrowed, before he replied. "Yesterday morning. We all had breakfast together at the diner?" he reminded.

_Was this about his memory? Is he forgetting things?_

Booth deflated. "No!" Peeking back at the poker chip, he softened his tone. "I mean the _last time_ you saw Bones _as a patient_. I know that she comes to see you every now and again. To talk stuff through." He stared the young doctor down, now both feet tapping.

_I live backed into corners with this guy_.

Sweets sighed heavily. "You'll have to ask Dr. Brennan that question, Agent Booth. You know it's not my answer to provide."

Groaning, an irritated Booth vaulted off the couch, lured toward the window light.

Sweets watched as Booth paced back and forth. _Well at least that confirms things. _Sweets thought. _He knows about the visits._ But Sweets was certain that Dr. Brennan had kept Booth mostly in the dark about how often, and why.

He wondered how much Booth really knew.

Booth leaned his elbow against the wall as he stared out the window. "Before we met you, Bones had an _incident_ in New Orleans." He turned to eye Sweets, seeking some form of recognition.

_Nothing._

"An incident." Sweets repeated. He shifted his position, directing his frame towards Booth.

Booth continued_. _"She was on vacation, uh, working in a morgue; identifying Katrina victims with a bunch of other volunteers. Next thing I know, she's calling me from an ambulance telling me that she's on her way to the ER."

Sweets sat up. New Orleans was not ringing a bell for him. He needed more metadata. "She got injured…in a morgue?"

"No. She was at a colleague's house. A doctor name Graham Legiere." Booth read that Sweets still had no recognition, so he continued. "But, she woke _up_ on the bathroom floor of her hotel room. She couldn't remember how she got there. She went to the ER to get checked out. "

Booth paused, leaning his back against the wall stretching his legs out a bit in front of him. Sweets recognized that Booth used this hesitation tactic and stance in interrogations on occasions.

_He's waiting for my reaction. But why? _ _And more importantly…_

"I'm confused. She was at some guy's house. **_Something_** happens – (_you don't know what or you're just not telling me)_ – and the next thing she knows is that she's waking up her hotel room?" Booth nods a confirmation.

_Jesus…was she-? _

"Was she…? Had she… been-?" He stammered.

"No." Booth cut him off quickly, knowing the direction of Sweets' thoughts, the same direction his mind took that morning she called him nine years ago. Pushing off the wall, he walked toward the back of the sofa. "She had a rape kit done." He explained formally, clinically.

But this was still his partner. _His wife_.

He pressed both pairs of knuckles into the couch, erasing the thought from his mind. "There was no evidence of…**_that_**. But she _had_ been attacked. And her doctor friend was killed."

_What. The. Fuck?_

Sweets' looked bewildered as he processed this new information. Sarcastically, he thought of the bad karma that surrounded Brennan's doctor colleagues – Zack, Ethan Sawyer, this dude, _himself_. Hell, even Hodgins & Cam were having bad turns. He shook his head, trying to reset to Shrinky Mode. "I don't recall any of this from your case history."

Booth rocked against and forth on the back of the sofa. "It wasn't our case. Bones was a victim; New Orleans PD was handling it, but when Bones called I sure as Hell headed down there. She told me that she woke up on the floor – _it_ and _she _were covered in blood – hers and the dead doc's. She had also sprained her wrist, had various cuts and a concussion."

Booth studied the shocked reaction of his friend. His co-worker. His wife's psychologist. _He's visibly surprised. He knows none of this. Strike two._

"She had blacked out a whole day. She remembered Tuesday, but it was Thursday."

Sweets shifted uncomfortably. "She lost a whole day?" he swallowed.

"Yeah." Booth watched him carefully. "A whole day." Booth came around from the back of the sofa to sit down again. "She had dinner with another colleague – didn't remember that. She didn't remember going to Legiere's house. She remembered nothing about an attack. Last thing she remembered was being in the morgue the day before. The only thing she knew when she woke up was that she had been injured."

"She had dinner. And then went to Legiere's house later than evening, for…?" Sweets asked.

Booth glared at him. "**Drinks! Probably drinks, Sweets!** She wasn't fucking around with the guy" he spat out. "She said that he wanted to, but she didn't remember…" his voice trailed off.

Sweets' eyes softened in apology.

Booth placed his face in his hands. Sighing, he rubbed his anguished eyes as he looked back up at Sweets. "Anyway, it turns out that some coffin-fetish voodoo chick had killed somebody in a hit and run. She asks her boyfriend, who happens to work at the morgue, to help her hide the body among the Katrina victims. But Bones and Legiere were working on the body's ID…."

"…and the boyfriend gets nervous. He and the voodoo girlfriend try and stop them." Sweets offered, filling in the end.

Booth continues to read Sweets, still not convinced that he was completely in the dark about this. _Is he juking me? _He wondered. "Almost. The boyfriend gets cold feet so this tiny voodoo girlfriend kills him too."

"Wow." Sweets sat back, trying to ascertain where Booth was going with all of this. "You said Dr. Brennan had Doctor…"

"Legiere."

"….Doctor Legiere's blood on her. I'm assuming that he was at the house when he was killed? That's where she was assaulted?"

Booth rubbed his temple. "Yeah. But you know Bones." He offered a pained half-smile. "It appears that she fought her way out." He sighed. "Sometimes she has flashes of a struggle, Grant's face and dropping the knife. But otherwise, she remembers nothing. Zip. Zilch. Bubkis."

"What did the – voodoo girl – say when she was arrested?"

Booth leaned back abruptly. He sneered. "Well, that's just the thing. Voodoo girl's voodoo dad killed her before we could question her."

"What?"

Booth laughed at the absurdity of it all. Sighing, he explained. "Yeah. He was some type of voodoo sorcerer, and the guy his daughter hit kind of rival. Knowing that the police were zeroing in on his daughter, he killed her, thinking that he'd be able to revive her through voodoo at a later time." He scratched his head.

"Wow. That's…nuts." Observed the psychologist.

"No shit." Booth grunted leaning forward.

Sweets considered what Booth had shared, still feeling murky on the root cause of the fear that he read earlier in Booth's face. "And, because the killer was killed, Dr. Brennan really doesn't have any closure about what occurred the night that she blacked out."

Booth's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

"Have you discussed with her what _she_ thinks happened that night, Agent Booth?"

"I don't know Sweets." He mumbled. "It's been almost ten years since it happened and that's as recently as we've discussed it. Back then, she thought that maybe, she...argh! You know how hyperlogical Bones can be!" He griped, evading Sweets' gaze.

Sweets took a breath. "But - it's on your mind ten years later Agent Booth. You're here, probing me for questions about what Dr. Brennan may or may not have discussed with me during therapy sessions. You're visibly upset, the most upset that I've ever seen. Agent Booth, what did Dr. Brennan tell you _then_, and why is it bothering you _now_?"

Booth began to waggle his leg. "And the fucking New Orleans cops were so focused on getting a collar. Yeah, I _get_ that it was 2006. I _get_ that Katrina had happened the summer before and there was still chaos. But everything about the case was _flimsy_. The crime scene investigation was sloppy, I wouldn't trust the blood evidence for crap. Their evidence collection was piss-poor…" he shifted uncomfortably.

The human lie detector discerned amplified anxiety about that sentence, but he remained silent as Booth continued.

"And fucking Bones! For a while there, she was the primary suspect in Legiere's murder…"

_Bingo Baby. _

Sweets sat up. _Dr. Brennan accused of murder: again. Fucking Pelant, how did he know and I didn't? All this time I thought he was triggering off of the coma story, or her as Plan B in Max's trial, when in fact…_

"And if Caroline and I weren't there, they would have convicted her."

"Wait, what? Ms. Julian was there? What for?"

Booth stared at Sweets in disbelief. "Bones needed a lawyer. So I got her the best. Plus, you know Caroline's from that region…"

_You get a prosecutor. A federal prosecutor. A scary, cranky, federal prosecutor to rescue your partner. Seriously dude. _"Right." He leaned forward. "But Agent Booth, why is all of this bothering you _**now**_?"

Taking a deep breath, he squirmed uncomfortably. "Legiere's body. It was pinned to his bedroom wall. Crucifixion-style."

"Okay."

"There were voodoo symbols on the wall and weird voodoo shit all around the house." He sighed. "But the body…it looked ritualistically, but the cuts…" His voice drifted as he remembered the sight of the body. He cleared his throat. "Some of the cuts looked clinical."

Booth's meandering eyes locked onto Sweets. Booth didn't want to say the next sentence in his head.

_Motherfucker. _Sweets thought. _You're too scared to say it, but you are thinking it._ "Dr. Brennan has recollection of holding the knife."

"Dropping the knife." Booth corrected.

Sweets could feel his patience waning. _What Booth was implying_..."Fine. She recalls dropping the knife. And she had Legiere's blood all over her. And some of the cuts you saw, you believe to have been clinical, as if delivered by someone with a medical background."

This time it was Sweets who stood up. He moved toward his desk. He needed distance from this conversation. _Booth has run every scenario through his head, and his gut is telling him that…it's possible that…no! He has to say it, not me. _Turning back to Booth, he asked. "What do _you_ think may have happened that night, Agent Booth?"

Booth deflated against the sofa, groaning. He placed his hand over his forehead and eyes, grimacing. "One of the guys working with Bones and Legiere told me that Legiere definitely was down to, to hook up with Bones" He moaned, sitting up. "And, he apparently was chummy with voodoo girl's boyfriend too." His face was sallow. "Back then…you've heard her stories. Bones – experimented – with a lot of crazy stuff." He winced.

Leaning now against his desk, Sweets nodded, magnanimous enough to save his friend from his Catholic blush. "You're thinking maybe Legiere invited Dr. Brennan and the voodoo couple over with hopes of a foursome."

"Or maybe voodoo boyfriend suggested the invite. I can't think of any other way they would have gotten into the house." Booth sighed. "And everyone involved is either dead or can't recall…"

"Either way, Legiere and Dr. Brennan were unaware that they were in danger, until it was too late." Sweets offered.

"Yeah." Booth placed his head in his hands. "Fuck! Ugh! Why am I thinking these things?!"

Sweets put his hands in his pocket. Looking to his shoes for courage, he posed the question. "What exactly are you thinking, Agent Booth?"

Sighing, Booth peeked up from behind his hands. "I'm thinking…that you may not know about **_this_** particular bit of our history, but you do know of other occasions where Bones has lost time."

Sweets crossed his arms, determined to resist Booth's probing into Dr. Brennan's sessions. _But dammit_, he could feel his cheeks reddening. "Yes, well. Dr. Brennan has admitted to both you and me that she loses track of time when she's working at the lab…"

"Sweets! You _know_ that's not what I'm talking about! Sometimes when things get out of hand, Bones takes off. Something in her tries to push the reset button."

"You're saying that Dr. Brennan has episodes of lost memory…"

Booth glared at Sweets. "I'm saying that **_you _**know she does, you little shit."

"Agent Booth, redirecting your anxiety about Dr. Brennan at me with anger..." Sweets attempted to diffuse.

Booth huffed, placing his head back in his hands. "Sweets!" Clasping his hands in prayer mode, he continued, trying to be calmer. "**_Dr_**. **Sweets**…"

Sweets nodded. "Agent Booth. You know that Dr. Brennan can be hyperrational…" he returned to his chair.

Booth continued. "Right. She compartmentalizes as a coping mechanism. Bones is a survivor. She will do everything in her power to protect herself, I know! But Sweets – some of the shit that was done to her as a kid… it's worse than anything my Dad could have done to me or my Mom on his worst day. That takes more than compartmentalization." He sighed resignedly.

The swell of tears returned. "Pelant watched us. He studied us – _for years_. The little fucker knew shit about us that even we didn't know about ourselves."

Booth stood up, again needing the sanctuary of light. Out of Booth's sight line, Sweets shifted nervously. More than all of them, Sweets knew how many secrets that Christopher Pelant could have uncovered.

"What… what if he figured something out about Bones that I've been too reluctant to see because I'm in love with her?" he asked dejectedly.

"Agent Booth. This is very serious. We'll need some time to discuss this more deeply, but this is something that you've been keeping in for a long time. I need you to tell me _why_ this incident in New Orleans is on your mind." Sweets entreated.

Reluctantly Booth turned back toward Sweets, terror pulsing through his whole being.

"Bones is everything to me. _Everything_. I love her. **_I know her_**, but…"

"But?"

The room was heavy with silence. Neither man wanted give in this game of chicken. What Booth was suggesting was possible – Temperance Brennan was absolutely capable of murder. She had killed before.

But she had killed for the right reasons – to protect her partner. There was no way that she could kill in cold blood. Sweets needed more input about New Orleans, but he was certain that if she _had _been party to someone's death, it was in self-defense. _He was certain of it. _

The woman that they both knew absolutely could not kill without justification.

But what if it wasn't **_their_** Temperance Brennan? Overwhelmed by stress, losing time, fugue episodes – Sweets had _just _begun to work on these things with her. She admitted that she had been plagued by these episodes for years. But _**he** _couldn't tell Booth that. He would need to discuss it with her. He needed them to discuss it with him together.

_Jesus. Booth was suggesting that Dr. Brennan murdered a colleague in cold blood. And Pelant knew it, and he was exploiting it. _Sweets' head throbbed. _Psychologically speaking, this was nuts. _

_But possible. _

_But why bring it up? Again - it was ten years ago. Pelant was dead. Why not keep this quiet? I'm missing something._

_"Agent Booth." Sweets began. "Pelant is dead...why...? What's the point?" _He swallowed. He knew what he was about to suggest to the head of Major Crimes for the Federal Bureau of Investigation that they could keep his suspicions quiet. Sweets had been silent before, but not for Booth. Never for Booth.

_Fuck, is this what he wants me to suggest? _

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

_"Is there a poi-"_

_"Don't." _Booth stopped from the words lodged in his throat, he hung his head.

"Sweets, I think that Bones could be the Ghost Killer."

* * *

Episode References:

S1E19 - The Man in The Morgue


	3. Chapter 3: Whiskey

___Created April 2014 - ____I don't own the characters or the words made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic, Threesquares, and Covalent Bond postings._

_______A/N: 5/1/2014 - Happy May Day! Inception chapter. Tons of flashbacks, and subflashbacks, and flashfowards. _

_______Hope you're enjoying the mindf***_

_______Because Covalent Bond loves title logic:_

_______Re: the title of Chapter One - as you will discover, Lance Sweets carries the weight of the world on his shoulders...get it?  
________Re: the title of Chapter Two - the full version of the chapter is of course the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which BTW was on the list of movies that Christopher Pelant had rented *whistles innocently*_

* * *

"What?!"

Sweets felt as sick as Booth looked. And Booth looked gutted. He attempted to speak but he couldn't find the words. But at some point, he knew that he had to – staring back at him were the intense eyes of a man desperate to be proven wrong.

One of the best investigators in the country had drawn a conclusion that his partner, his best friend and wife, the mother of his child, the love of his life may have killed multiple people.

_For years. _

" H- how did you…? Why? I'm sorry, Agent Booth, I just need a second to gather my thoughts… " he blustered.

Booth squeezed his eyes shut. A brief stream of tears eased just a bit of the pressure from the throbbing headache that had joined him on the ride back to the office. Rationally, he knew that he needed to give Sweets time to process what had been slowly poisoning him for months. But putting it out there – saying the words out loud – that Bones could be a murderer? A serial killer? This was beyond agony.

Whatever Sweets had to say couldn't be good either.

_He didn't flat out call me crazy._ _He's thinking about it too. He thinks it's possible. He's not mumbo-jumboing me that I'm having latent coma trauma delusions or whatever. _

_ Shit. _

Nervously he waited. But he needed Sweets. He couldn't move forward to do _what _– he didn't know yet.

_C'mon Sweets_.

The kid was the only one that he could trust with this. As much as he loved his father in law, Booth and Max didn't share the same moral code. He wanted to turn his car to Paradise Lost for a drink and a talk, but he had reasoned that he absolutely couldn't share _this _with Aldo _the Civilian._ Besides, Aldo didn't know Bones like Sweets did, and it was for that same reason he couldn't call his GA sponsor either. This was a problem that he needed help solving and he needed a Temperance Brennan expert on this. Someone who could calmly and thoughtfully help Booth unravel the knots of his crazy thinking.

And if he wasn't crazy, someone who could help him figure out what the fuck to do. He knew the risk that he was taking though – putting _his_ and the kid's career in jeopardy.

But he didn't care. Nothing was more important, more dire than this. Bones may have gone off the deep end. And he needed help.

_Jesus,_ why have I ignored the signs for so long?

* * *

FLASHBACK

* * *

_Booth shifted for the thousandth time. He was convinced - there was just no comfortable position in the Prius to be had. But he'd do it for Bones. Though she seemed to be genuinely happy that __**he **__was finally happy with Hannah, he figured that it couldn't hurt if he let her have a few partner victory points. _

_Like driving in the Enviro Box. To Booth, it was a torture worse than Sister Amelia's Latin class. Or waterboarding. _

_Heading Northeast out of the Federal Triangle toward the crime scene, the vehicle came to a red light. Booth sighed as an awkward silence hung between the two of them. _

**_What the Hell was up with the whole silent vehicle thing, anyway?_**_ As a red-blooded American car guy, Booth revered the rolling growl of an idling vehicle, and so Brennan's car was __**just wrong**__. Further exacerbating his agony, Brennan had turned off the radio, intent on facilitating an NPR forum with him about what ever topic she probably had pulled out of her How Geniuses Can Make Small Talk With Real Live People encyclopedia. _

**_God! Things are weird between us right now. Just go to your happy place Seeley._**

_That happy place was a few hours back to the __**Hello Soldier**__ that Hannah had treated him to. _

**_Man, oh man! She can work that tiny little mouth of hers and…damn! Bones is talking again…about what? Oh, of course…._**

_"Hmm, the perfect murder?" he asked distractedly. _

_"I'm a forensic anthropologist; it would be odd if I didn't consider the perfect murder. First consideration: complete annihilation of the body. No body, no murder, perfect."_

**_The perfect murder. What the Hell is going on with her?_**

_Booth watched Brennan, who for some unknown reason was a quarter of a head higher in her seat than was he. From this angle he could detect her ruse. Her eyes darted back and forth as if she literally was recalling her words from something that she had written down earlier. _

**_She's on script again. Jesus. _**

_One of the coping mechanisms that Brennan had employed for years was what Booth called The Fake. From various books, chats with Angela, and Google, Brennan had garnered a series of tactics that she utilized to help her cheat her way through casual social interactions. _

_Even if she hadn't admitted that she did it to Booth years ago, he could smell The Fake from a mile away. She would become nervous and fidgety and completely unable to maintain extended eye contact. Plus, she was topic obsessed – she could have no satisfaction until she had completely voiced her "part of the script", which could take forever since she usually picked the topic. Usually a topic that helped her circumvent what was really on her mind. _

_She hadn't tried to use The Fake on him since his coma. It worried him. Was she slipping again? Or is she just trying to dodge her favorite topic – Hannah? _

**_Nah, _**_he thought to himself__**. She's fine. Just let her go on. Partner points! **__Ehhhh, let me just check._

_"Why are we talking about this?"_

_"My car, I choose the topic of conversation. Also, my car achieves excellent gas mileage…"_

**_Hooboy. Here comes the Toyota commercial_**_ he groaned. __**Bring her back, dude**_

_"Okay, you win, so let's talk about the perfect murder." Partner points!_

_She looked at him with a brief hint of suspicion. "Of course, at this point, I'm simply being theoretical."_

_"Wait, what do you mean 'at this point'?" he sneered. He waited for her to look him in the eye, but she evaded his gaze. _

_"There are so many variables in a person's life; it'd be irrational to completely rule out the possibility of murdering someone. (Duh) she held his gaze, almost daring him to reel her in. _

**_She's being ridiculous_**_. Just like those bangs. (He hated her hair. He missed her forehead; it was one of the few safe places that he could always sneak a kiss onto. And those bangs were like a banishing curtain). _

_"No, it's not. You say I'm never going to murder someone (you nutbar)." He continued to watch her. She was so far away. _

_Her smirk seemed to fall and with it the glint in her eyes. "I don't believe in absolutes." She replied with a hint of melancholy. She looked tired. _

_"Scary." __**Did I say that out loud?**__ "You're really scaring me right now."_

_She sniffed dismissively. "Because you know that if I did commit murder, you'd never be able to catch me." She smirked._

* * *

___Was it possible that subconsciously, she had been hinting to him all of those years?_

_**God dammit, I've got to fix this. **_

_Driving back to the Hoover, Booth's body vibrated with tension. He couldn't keep this to himself anymore, he needed to talk to Sweets._

_Booth could handle the nightmares (they both had nightmares all the time). He could handle the absent-mindedness. And he absolutely could understand her passion to find out the truth that had up-to-now eluded her. _

_But the perfect storm of all three things...**and** the possibility that they may have something to do with her blackouts? Booth was certain that his wife was in a tailspin. She was way off her game. Pelant had rattled her in a way that Epps, Gormogon and Taffet never accomplished. She was emotional, distracted and irrational. She was making guesses and maybe even mistakes._

_Bones didn't make mistakes. And she certain never had forgotten Christine._

* * *

FLASHBACK

* * *

**_"Bones, I've been waiting for you outside for in the car for a half an hour. You said you'd be right out."_**

_**"Oh, sorry. I... I lost track of time."** She assessed all the items on the light table before her. She knew that Booth would take her away from her findings, and it was crucial that she made a mental snapshot of where she was leaving off. _

_Booth also surveyed the remains in front of Brennan. He was in no way an expert, but he had come to be able to discern one set of remains from another. She had been studying the remains of one of Christopher's theorized Ghost Killer victims._

_Christopher. The fact that lately she had ever referred to Pelant - several times - by his familiar name - it had made him physically sick. The little fucker had gotten to her, he had achieved some form of twisted intimacy that should have creeped her out. But it had piqued something in her. Pelant had peeled away at her moral defenses, and infiltrated inner core of logic. And Booth was defenseless. _

_Worse than his intrusion into their house, violating their life, threatening the sanctity of their daughter's space - Christopher Pelant was in Bones' head. It had taken Booth years to gain a foundational understanding of the incredibly fragile and complex woman that he loved. But Pelant turned her into a course and he had mastered her. Fuck everyone else who he could do it to - Pelant could predict Bones' behaviors. Like Howard Epps, the pyscho had taken pleasure in manipulating her. _

_And she had let him...shit, she was **still** letting him. _

_He had become her new imaginary friend. Her new Micah. What he said, she believed. Without question._

_But unlike Imaginary Micah, Pelant had gotten off on his manipulations. Booth seethed with anger, remembering the obvious amusement Pelant had garnered from trapping his beautiful, foolish prey in Limbo. Twisted little fuck probably had a nice long tug thinking about her standing there, unwilling to move at his simple command. Ugh! He probably did it while watching her the whole time. _

_Again. _

_Booth raged at the knowledge that Christopher Pelant had the technology and motivation to hear and watch his wife in the throes of ecstasy - that he knew what got her got her hot - where she liked to be touched, how she sounded when she came. What they had recovered from the lair that they found went miles beyond disturbing. It was obvious that Pelant wanted to consume her. Not that he needed any further rationales, but Booth had no remorse for killing that waste of body parts._

_But Pelant was still winning, wasn't he? He still saturated Brennan's thoughts and starred in her nightmares. He was still sharing their bed._

_Why was she under his spell? Why was it so easy for her to ally her thinking with a psychotic killer than her own husband? Unsettling was an understatement. She was losing control again. _

_**"I'm concerned about you."** Booth entreated. **"I mean you're having more nightmares..."**_

_**"No, I'm used to them."** she countered. **"Neuropsychologists now think that its the mind excreting feelings and information that it can't process awake."**_

_**That's the problem,** he thought to himself. Plus she was quoting psychologists now? **Tailspin**._

_**"And think you're obsessed."** he countered as calmly as he could muster. "**I think that you're so obsessed that you can't even know how to shut it down, even when you're asleep."**_

**_"So you don't believe me?" _**_  
_

_Right there. This was what Booth feared the most: that Brennan was working herself into another solitary confinement episode. He now could recognize the trigger that had haunted her since being locked in a trunk. She couldn't deal with alienation._

_**"Look I want to believe you, but where's the evidence that links them? Real evidence, hard evidence, I learned that from you." **Bones, baby you're not alone. I will never let you be alone again, can't you see-_

**_"Do you think I'm crazy?"_**

**_"Yeah, a little. I do. This is not you..." _**_Booth hated himself for confronting her this way. But he was beyond concerned. Pelant was monopolizing her mind. Bones had forgotten that this was her bonding day with Christine. He felt like he was losing her and that she needed a snap back to what was most important - their family. _

_Thankfully, she (reluctantly) agreed to return to regular programming. He relaxed as she began to yield to reason. _

_All of this could be picked up in the morning. He felt like he was saying this everyday to her:_

**_"__The Ghost Killer's going to be here in the morning."_**

_Once they packed into the car, Christine chatted away to herself in the backseat while her parents spoke quietly in the front of the truck._

_Though they were heading home, Booth had to head back to the Hoover. He needed to make sure that Bones was focused on Christine. The easiest way for him to ensure it was to let her roll through her thoughts on the Ghost Killer._

_Unfortunately, her thoughts were not her own._

* * *

_ Like a lecherous college professor honing in on his prey for the semester, he lured her with the promise of her favorite game - solving riddles. "**What...w**__**hat do you think happened to poor Chloe Campbell?"** he probed. _

_The dutiful student ignored what potential unease she should have at his unpredicted presence. Relaxed by his want of her opinion, she followed him with rapt attention. With all the dispassion that he had come to expect, she stated "**I think you killed her."**_

_**"No."** No my precious Temperance. Now begins your lesson. "**W**__**asn't me.**"_

_**"You know who did it?"** she questioned, annoyed by his hubris. _

_**"Ah-uh, same person who did 1870, 3606, 4005, 7932 and 9224."** he stated with the familiar confidence of a Dr. Zack Addy presenting his findings. __He knew this would set her even further at ease. _

**_"No, that's not possible. I wouldn't have missed that." _**_she debated with her pseudo-colleague, challenging him for an explanation._

_But he knew better. Temperance Brennan loved to flaunt her genius as power above all others. But he also knew the trick - it was what Dr. Michael Stires used to bed her; the trick that her ignorant lummox of a boyfriend Booth didn't even realize worked; the technique that her useless whore of a best friend casually exploited; the approach that made Pelant enjoy Temperance's interactions with Dr. Oliver Wells: **dismiss her, and she will defer to what she perceived to be your greater expertise.**_

_**"Don't be so hard on yourself."** he patronized smugly. **"They were found in different geographical locations, killed by completely different methods, different ages. ****Nothing to connect them."** he shrugged._

_And now, the hook. _

**_"And yet they were all killed by one person."_**

_**"Who?"** her muted inquiry proved his victory. _

_**"I don't know. Yet."** But that neanderthal you fuck won't be able to help you. Only me, he thought, knowing it was still too soon to disparage Booth without losing her. Soon he would have her convinced. Soon they could kill him together. Just not yet. "**But because I'm better than you and all your Squinterns, I will figure out who the killer is. ****I think, um I think she's pretty bad, and I think she's still out there." **My poor dear** - **you don't even know how close, but I will help you deal with it. Only I will understa-_

**_"She?"_**

_Sold. I've got you now. But this will take time, we must continue to dance a bit further. **"**_**_Well, I'm-I'm being sloppily generic, but I have my reasons for thinking it's a woman." _**

_He watched her process his words. She was beginning to re-measure his value. But why wait for her to draw that conclusion? The narcissist in him couldn't resist the taunt._**_ "__And if anything happens to me, she'll keep doing what she's doing and you won't even know she's there." _**

_He scoffed. He had credited Howard Epps for being a creative, but amateurish tormentor, but this was the psychology of Brennan that he failed to embrace. Make her want to play with you. Restrain her dog - this will keep Booth dutifully sitting at her heels. ** "I know you." **I know what you're capable of, and when you discover it too, you'll know that we're perfect for each other. You can't resist this, Temperance. **"You'll find me. It's in the stars." **_

_And so he set the next riddle in place._

* * *

_As patiently as he could, Booth listened to Brennan re-state the methods and locations of all of the "Ghost Killer" victims as they unloaded Christine and her things from the truck. _

_"Take the night off from this Bones. Go to the park. Take a bubble bath with Christine. Do some writing. Give yourself some distance from these cases, okay? It will be good to clear your mind." In that moment, Booth committed to touching base with Cam. He needed her help in creating the distance that he knew Bones wouldn't. _

_Placing their daughter in her stroller, Brennan distractedly stroked Christine's hair, laughing at Booth's absurd comment that a mind could be cleared. Booth came around to kiss his daughter and then his wife. As he pulled away from her kiss, Brennan growled, impatient for a few more lingering seconds of his touch. _

_She was apologizing. _

_Sweeping her hand against the stubble of his jaw and up into his hair, she sighed."__You're making sense. I will heed your advice." _

_"That's my girl!" he encouraged, kissing her cheek. "Give yourself a break. You've been going at it way too hard." **And I never want you stressed to the point I lose you again. **_

___She swept her hand across his chest. "You're right Booth, I'm trying to make evidence fit Pelant's theory. I need to step back."_

_A heavy weight released from his shoulders. He kissed her fingers before heading back to the car door. "Yeah? So you admit you're packaging evidence? Ha! So that makes you a whatchamacallit, right? A cryptozoologist?" he teased closing the car door. Through the open window, he called out. "Like I said, Bones. Do your thing. You're a genius. You'll figure it out."_

_She giggled at his charm smile affirmation. __"I know. Tomorrow with fresh eyes." She turned the stroller towards the kitchen door. "You know I've really have been silly! Assuming it's a woman, that all the cases are connected, and that - conveniently - all the remains just happen to be in Modular Bone Storage..."_

_"Yeah!" Booth agreed as he started to back the truck out of the garage._

_She waved to him. "__After all its not like all of the murder locations are so unusual...I've been to all of them." she laughed, closing the house door behind her._

* * *

_Episode References: _

The Body in the Bounty – S6E4 (written by: Michael Peterson)

The Sense in the Sacrifice - S9E4 (written by: Jonathan Collier)

The Ghost in the Killer - S9E12 (written by: Nkechi Okoro Carroll)

The Nail in the Coffin - S9E22 (written by: Dean Lopata)


End file.
